


In the Beginning, The Flowers Wilt.

by orestessober



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Agender Enjolras, All the Amis are queer, Anorexia, Bulimia, Eating Disorders, Enjolras is also Communist, Genderqueer Grantaire, Les Amis de L'ABC are a queer activist group, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Modern AU, Multi, Non-Binary Jehan, Not just because he looks good in red, Prompt Fic, Recovery, Trans Male Courfeyrac, Transgender, alcohol mention, non binary, rape mention
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-06
Updated: 2014-11-06
Packaged: 2018-02-24 06:59:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,157
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2572361
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orestessober/pseuds/orestessober
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt: "Character A has a mental breakdown and Character B helps them out."</p>
<p>Jehan has been in love with Courfeyrac since the man had saved him from being raped 4 years ago. Of course, he never mentions it to him. When they go out dancing at bars, at Grantaire's request, Jehan notices that all the ladies Courfeyrac dance with are surprisingly thin. He takes this to heart and lapses into a viscous eating disorder.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In the Beginning, The Flowers Wilt.

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This is my first fic in 6 years, so I am a bit rusty. I have only watched the 2012 movie, but I am reading the Brick. Hopefully this is somewhat IC, and if not, well...

In The Beginning, The Flowers Wilt.

The atmosphere was outside the coffee shop was dark and heavy, the air thick with unspoken feelings from the group of friends who were huddled in the entrance and also the downpour of cold, harsh rain. A petite member of the group, commonly known as Jean Prouvaire to most people,but as Jehan to his friends, makes an excuse to leave, unaware of the wary and concerned looks the others throw around, and heads off to his home, which thankfully would be empty due to his roommates staying at another’s house for the week. The rain drenches his long, light auburn hair, which, for once, has no flowers in it and had not had any for some time. Then again, Jehan had not been looking like himself for a long while; often dressing in black slacks with black button-downs that were looking more and more like they were hanging off his haggard form. The already disastrous look was accompanied with large black shadows that clung to the delicate skin under his now dull looking hazel eyes and pitiful attempts at a smile when someone was noticed to be looking at him. Also missing was the ink that always had stained the artist’s hands and arms, and most times also ended up on Jehan’s friends, most times his roommates. Regardless of his appearance, the unwell looking member of Les Amis de L’ABC clutched his rapidly cooling coffee in hand, shoving hisself through the busy streets before ending up in the artist’s district, a rather busy place in the middle of Paris. Darting up to a rather decrepit building, Jehan stomped in, tossing his bag at the couch and continued to his room. Jehan then stepped up to the floor length mirror, eyes flickering anxiously over his form before clothes are shed and strewn across the room. Chapped lips are licked,a nervous tic picked up from Feuilly, no doubt, and he nudges the scale out from under his bed with a skeletal-looking foot. His hands are shaking rapidly, whether from nerves or the lack of food is anyone’s guess, and steps upon the scale, a small whine pulled from his lips as he watches the numbers closely. 

103.2 lbs

His eyes widen at that and a near hysterical laugh echoes across the room. He is almost to his goal, and maybe then he can seduce Courfeyrac. After all, the taller Ami is the reason this all began for he always seemed to prefer such thin ladies when they went dancing. Surely this was the way to win his heart? 

Of course, as soon as Jehan thinks this, the days of not eating besides the daily cup of coffee- which is sitting on his counter, untouched- catches up to him and hazel eyes roll back and his pale, morbid looking body crashes to the floor. 

~

The next time he opens his eyes, he’s in a hospital and there is a hand in his, a variety of machines hooked up to him, and a plastic bracelet around his wrist, proclaiming to the world his name, birthday, and cause for admission.

Provaire, J. 03.18.1994. Anorexia Nervosa.

His mind is fuzzy as he reads that, but all the same, he panics. Who all know his secret? Do his friends know? His heart beats rapidly, thundering in his ears as the panic greatens. Soon the machine next to him starts to beep loudly, waking the person next to him and also alerting a nurse to enter the room.

“Mr. Prouvaire…” He winces at the title, and still avoids turning to see who is next to him. “If you cannot remain calm, we will be forced to sedate you. Your heart is a delicate organ and you have caused damage by the self-starvation and purging that you did.” Her tone allows no nonsense and he nods slowly, face going pale, making the freckles stand out even more. 

“Who found me?” Jehan’s tone is a weak rasp and the hand in his tightens, before moving to press a straw to his mouth, the cup full of cold water. The nurse leaves at that, leaving this conversation for Jehan and his saviour. Who, of course, turns out to be Courfeyrac. Jehan whimpers and closes his eyes, not willing to watch the man in front of him. He probably hated him. This was not how it was supposed to go at all. It was never supposed to end like this. There’s a sharp intake of breath beside his and then a warm hand is cupping his face, tilting it softly. His eyes flutter a bit, and he peer up at his amour through his eyelashes, heart and lungs spasming as waves of anxiety swirl through him. If he had any food in him, it would most likely be coming back up. 

“I’m not mad, Jean. I don’t understand why you did this, but I’m not upset. I’m happy I found you, okay?” Courfeyrac’s tone is gentle and quiet, a sharp contrast to his usually loud and amused one. He’s treating him like a wounded animal. Isn’t he though? All humans are technically human and he is wounded, wounded by his heart which lead to wounds in his mind and no one would love some-- Someone is quieting him, holding him close. His breathing is loud to his own ears and he realises he must have began to hyperventilate in between his self-deprecating thoughts; his face tints pink in embarrassment. Calming his breathing, he whines a bit and buries his head closer in Courfeyrac’s chest, the scent of his cologne familiar and comforting. 

“You should be angry. I don’t--”

“No one should be angry at you for this. It isn’t your fault.”

More whimpers slip from his lips, and he mumbles the truth, too tired to hide anything anymore. 

“I did this because I wanted you to love me.”

Courfeyrac stiffens, and Jehan can hear his heart pounding, the noise loud in his ears. 

“I always did. I thought you knew.”

Jehan’s world darkens, becoming silent, as those words ring in his ears. 

He was loved.

He was always loved.

He was mistaken in thinking he wasn’t enough.

Jehan pulls back, tears making their way down his face as he stares at the green eyed boy in front of him who looks so scared and worried.

“Then maybe after I fix this, we can get some coffee?”

Courfeyrac laughs breathlessly, and it’s a beautiful sound.

“Asking me on a date, Prouvaire?”

“Of course.”

“Then of course. But, we’ll fix this. You’re not alone. You never have been.”

The petite boy smiles, exhausting evident as his eyes droop and he’s tucked back into bed by gentle hands.

He murmurs one last thing as his eyes close.

“I’m glad it was you that found me…”

He falls asleep before he can finish his thought, a delicate smile stretching across his face.


End file.
